


Woods Forsaken, Part 4

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim, Blair, a trip to Germany, some wolves, and a bit of plot. Oh yeah, it's a First Time story too. Rated: NC-17 for language, violence, and m/m content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woods Forsaken, Part 4

This story has been split into four parts. 

## Woods Forsaken

by Josephine Darcy

Author's website:  <http://JosephineDarcy.tripod.com/>

* * *

Woods Forsaken -- Part Four   
By Josephine Darcy  
JustJosephine@yahoo.com 

It took them another twenty hours to get home. It was evening by the time they walked into the loft. By then Blair had sobered up, but both men remained silent. Blair made a beeline toward the bathroom, and Jim let him go. He waited patiently on the stairs while he listened to the sounds of his Guide showering in the other room. When Blair finally emerged, smelling once again like himself and nothing more, Jim fought against the ache in his heart. He said nothing as Blair entered his bedroom and closed his door without even glancing in Jim's direction. 

Sighing, Jim went to shower himself. He cleaned his own wounds, squelching the desire to wake Blair and have him do it. Then he headed upstairs to his room, fell face first onto his bed, and slept like the dead until dawn. 

His alarm woke him at seven and he groggily got up and headed downstairs to start the coffee. Blair woke as well and emerged from his room, looking rumpled and sleepy but much better than he had the night before. He made a brief detour to the bathroom before claiming some coffee for himself. From long habit the two of them fell into their typical morning routine. 

Still something was off--Jim couldn't seem to keep himself from watching Blair more intently than he usually did. Blair's scent was different--or rather Jim's perception of it was different. What had he thought prior to all this--that Blair's scent was tolerable? Who had he been kidding--his Guide smelled fantastic. More than once he'd found himself making an abortive move toward his Guide--as if to grab hold of him and bury his nose in his hair. 

What in hell had this done to him, he wondered? Had all that craziness back at the castle done something to him as well as Blair? Had that binding ritual, or claiming ritual--or whatever the hell the Alphas wanted to call it--somehow pulled Jim into the whole wolf-thing as well? Or was it more personal that that--maybe that he now knew what Blair looked like when he came, knew what his Guide looked like and felt like and smelled like when aroused. And as impossible as it was for him to believe or accept, he found everything about it beautiful. Blair was beautiful, and he'd responded to Jim in a way no one ever had before. 

Of course he'd responded to Tristan the same way. And if he'd understood Allisia right, he would have responded to Marco as well. The thoughts twisted inside Jim, awakening his anger. He didn't want to be part of this--didn't want to be tied to these wolfish instincts. It wasn't right, wasn't normal. 

"Jim?" Blair's voice was almost timid. Startled, Jim realized he'd been glaring at the young man. Worried blue eyes gazed up at him from across the kitchen island. "Jim, are we. . . are we alright?" 

The anger faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. This wasn't really Blair's fault. He was as much a victim as anyone--Jim at least had had a choice. Blair hadn't had any. "Yeah," he assured him quickly. "We're . . . we're good." He wasn't quite ready to talk about it yet--not now, not when he still felt so off center. "I think I'll head into the station. Tell Simon we're back. You should call your mother. She was worried about you." 

"Do you want me to come in later?" Blair asked, and the wariness was still there in his eyes. 

Jim almost said no, almost told him not to come to the station. But he caught himself before the words left his mouth. He knew that if he pushed Blair away even once, he might never figure out how to pull him back. And right now the only thing he was certain about was that he didn't want Blair leaving him. 

"Sure," he forced the seemingly casual tone. "If you have time. There's probably a ton of paper work waiting for me." 

"Alright," Blair nodded, the wariness in his eyes giving way to something else--something oddly more vulnerable. Jim wasn't quite able to identify the emotion. 

As he'd guessed, the paperwork was piled high, and Simon was glad to see him walk into the bullpen. He asked briefly after Blair and the funeral, and Jim found himself lying with practiced ease. What could he say--that Blair's family were a bunch of psycho werewolves and he'd had to have sex with his Guide to keep him from joining the pack? Somehow he doubted it would go over well--not to mention the fact that certain loose ends were beginning to worry him. If he understood all that had happened correctly--by killing that wolf, he'd essentially killed Tristan. And while he suspected Marco probably had some way of cleaning the trail of evidence behind him--after all it wouldn't help the pack any to have the police investigate the whole family too closely--what would Jim do if he didn't keep him and Blair out of it? It offered the perfect way for Marco to get rid of Jim, leaving Blair unprotected. 

Still the less Simon knew about this the better. Either way he'd deal with the problems as they arose. 

He tried instead to focus on the paper work he had yet to finish, tried to turn his mind back to the mundane details of every day life. But time and time again, the memories of the past few days distracted him. The wolves were one thing, the strangeness of the nights, the drug induced pandemonium--but more and more the only thing he could really seem to think about was Blair. Blair's reaction aside--he couldn't think about that part anyway without getting angry--his reaction to his Guide had been completely unexpected. 

He could lie to himself and say that the only reason he'd been able to have sex with Blair was because his Guide's life had depended on it. But the truth was, he'd enjoyed it--more than enjoyed it. He'd never reacted like that before--never felt such need, such hunger, such desire. His gut twisted with the thought--had he been gay all this time and not known it? Didn't seem possible. It had to be something else--drugs perhaps, a Sentinel/Guide thing, something. 

By lunchtime he was so tensed up over his thoughts he couldn't bring himself to eat. Instead he found himself sipping lukewarm coffee at his desk while he surreptitiously studied the other detectives in the bullpen. He dialed up his senses, scanning them all one by one, looking for some reaction within himself he'd never noticed before. They all had unique scents--he'd learned long ago to distinguish one from the other. Rafe's scent was slightly more pleasant that Brown's--but only because Brown was currently dating a woman who tended to drench herself in a perfume Jim couldn't stand. The perfume clung faintly to Brown's clothing. And Simon's scent--beyond the cigar smoke--was familiar, pleasant also. But none of them had a scent he was even remotely attracted to. . .why was Blair so different? 

He supposed from a purely abstract sense he could concede that the other three detectives were handsome enough. But they were still men. . .just men. . .not like say. . . Megan, for example. Now her scent was more than just pleasant. He rather liked the floral undertones that rose from her skin, and she was lovely to look at. . .long beautiful legs, slender waist, curves in all the right places. Granted their personalities tended to clash, but he could definitely see himself in bed with her under the right circumstances. Or for that matter the cute little blond secretary that brought up the files from Forensics, or the new redhead over in Homicide, or that woman down in Holding who had legs to die for. But Simon, Henry, Rafe? Or even that new pretty-boy Vice had hired straight out of the academy? He just couldn't see it. He shuddered at the thought. 

Frustrated, he focused again on their scents. Not unpleasant. Nothing to turn him on, but nothing to turn him off either. They didn't revolt him--okay, Parker across the hall smelled like old cabbage--that revolted him. But other than that, the most he could say was that they weren't unpleasant. And Megan's scent--was it just that he was conditioned to like the softness of the female scents? Truth be told, it really wasn't _that_ much different--didn't necessarily turn him on one way or another. It could, he conceded, under the right conditions. But did that mean all the other pleasant scents could do the same given the proper stimuli? 

And then he caught a new scent in the air--one as familiar to him as his own. Blair. His Guide had arrived, was in the elevator on his way up to the bullpen. And all his careful analysis went completely out the window as his senses locked on Blair. He smelled of the earth after a rainstorm, of the forest at night, of passion, and hunger and blood-pounding desire, and Jim found himself growing hard in reaction. He nearly moaned out loud. Yeah, maybe he could see himself in bed with Megan, but he hadn't reacted like this to even her. There were no other conditions to be met, no other stimuli required. 

He heard the elevator ding in announcement, and involuntarily he turned to watch Blair step off the lift. Blue eyes caught him, and again it hit him that Blair was beautiful. Not in some abstract way, but in a visceral, tangible sense, and the desire to touch nearly overwhelmed Jim. Had he always felt this, he wondered? Had the last few days simply made him more aware of it? He couldn't imagine it. Didn't seem possible. 

But as Blair entered the bullpen and moved to his usual seat beside him, Jim barely managed to check himself from reaching out to touch his Guide's hair. And even as he stopped the motion, he realized with some surprise that this wasn't entirely new--he always did that. Always reached out and touched Blair when he entered a room--it was as natural to him as breathing. Not doing it felt awkward and empty. 

Blair too seemed to sense something different. He shot Jim a fleeting half-smile, as if uncertain of his welcome. 

"Hey, Chief," Jim forced the nickname from his lips. He didn't know what else to do. How was he supposed to fix this--this unsettled emotion that burned through him? 

"Hey, Jim," Blair nodded. "Can I help?" 

Startled, Jim looked at him in alarm. For a brief moment he thought Blair was referring to his thoughts--offering help to sort them out. Then he realized that Blair simply meant the paperwork. "Oh, right. . ." he handed over the top file. "Thanks, Chief." "Sure, Jim." If anyone else in the bullpen noticed how forced they both sounded, they didn't say anything. 

They worked in silence for a few hours, neither making a whole lot of headway into the task. Jim couldn't help wondering if Blair felt as off kilter as he did. 

"Did you talk to your mother?" he asked after too long a silence. 

Blair looked up, startled. "Yeah. She's good. . .she. . .we talked." He shrugged almost helplessly. "She had a lot to tell me. . .about my father. " He shook his head. "I'll tell you some time." 

"When you feel like it," Jim nodded, trying to sound more understanding than he felt. He was angry at Naomi--Naomi should have warned them about this. Should have at least told Blair about this long ago. 

"Um. . ." Blair started to speak again, then stopped abruptly. He stared down hard at the papers before him. "Marco called too." 

It was funny how the mere sound of a name could cause such a reaction--every muscle in Jim's body tensed suddenly, as if poised for a fight. "What did he want?" the question came out as a growl. 

"The loft phone number, my address," Blair explained. 

"Did you give them to him?" 

"Yes," Blair nodded. 

Jim violently yanked open a file drawer and shoved the current folder into it before reaching for another. He slammed the drawer with a loud enough bang that a number of people glanced over at them. Jim's withering gaze quickly fended off any questions. "Why in hell would you do that?" he hissed at his partner. 

"Jim," Blair sighed. "He is still--" 

"Family?" Jim demanded. The anger burning through him hurt it was so strong. "In case you failed to notice Sandburg, that family of yours nearly killed us." 

If he'd been less angry, he might have been able to interpret the emotion that flickered through his Guide's eyes. As it was, he didn't have a clue. "They weren't trying to kill me." 

"No," Jim nodded in agreement, jaw clenched with fury. He dropped his voice. "They just wanted to fuck you. I'm the one they wanted to kill." 

Blair paled, and Jim saw his fists clench. He couldn't help remembering the punch Blair had given him in the forest. He wondered if his Guide wanted to hit him now. 

"What would you have done if they had killed me, Sandburg?" Jim growled low, with menace. He had to know. Had to know what Blair would have done to Tristan or Marco. The mere thought of Blair in either of their arms. . . .he was going to start breaking things in a minute. 

It seemed at first as if Blair wasn't going to answer. Wasn't even going to look at him. But his head came up suddenly, and Jim saw the unnatural brightness in his eyes. Tears, he wondered, or simple rage. 

"I don't know, Jim," he whispered. "I'm not the one with experience. Alex killed your partner. What did you do with her afterwards?" 

He couldn't have shocked Jim more if he had hit him. Jim rocked back in his seat, unable to process the words. As it was, a reply wasn't expected--Blair immediately rose and left, disappearing into the elevator before Jim could even catch his breath. And when he was finally able to breath again, he found that everything inside him hurt as if he'd been beaten and left for dead. 

"Jim?" Simon's voice pierced the veil of pain around him and he looked up in confusion. His boss stood in front of his desk, a concerned look on his face. "Anything wrong?" 

Wrong? How could anything be wrong? Sure his whole world was falling apart, but things were just fine, weren't they? Especially since he and Blair could talk about anything. "No, sir," he lied. 

Simon looked unconvinced. "Is Sandburg alright?" 

"Slight case of lycanthropy, but other than that he's fine," Jim shrugged, the pain receding and leaving him simply numb. 

"Huh?" Simon looked bewildered. 

"Nothing, sir," Jim assured him. "He's fine. I'm fine. Everything is. . . " 

"Fine?" Simon guessed. "Well, will the two of you be at the picnic tomorrow?" 

Picnic? Jim glanced briefly down at his desk calendar. Saturday--Major Crimes annual picnic down on the beach. A fun filled day of drinking too much beer, eating too much junk food, and playing too much football and Frisbee. Just what he wanted to do. 

"Yes, sir," he sighed, knowing it was expected. "We'll be there." Though he wasn't so certain he should be speaking for Blair. Still it would save them both from sitting at home together all weekend and not talking about all the things troubling them. 

"Good," Simon nodded in satisfaction. "Now go home. You look beat and I don't think you've actually managed to do anything today. Get your head out of the clouds, Ellison." 

"Yes, sir," Jim nodded. He stood and retrieved his coat, only vaguely aware that Simon was still watching him. 

"Jim?" 

He glanced back at Simon. The tall man looked worried. 

"You sure everything's okay?" 

"Ever read the story of Little-Red-Riding-Hood, Simon?" Jim asked. 

Simon's eyebrows rose in confusion. "Yeah, sure." 

"The wolf was the bad guy, wasn't he?" 

Simon nodded. "Near as I can remember, yeah." 

"That's what I always thought too," Jim sighed. "Good night, Simon." Jim headed for the elevator. Behind him he could hear Simon muttering to himself. 

"It's got to have something to do with his senses," the captain was saying. "It always has something to do with his senses." 

The lead weight tied around Jim's heart grew heavier--Simon was right. It always had something to do with his senses--and just once, he wished it didn't. He'd come to that proverbial fork in the road, and he'd taken the road less traveled. He'd always figured he was strong enough to handle it, strong enough to handle anything. But only if he didn't have to travel that road alone. 

Blair was in his room when Jim arrived back at the loft. He stood hesitantly outside the French doors for a long moment, not certain what to do. Finally he knocked. He heard Blair sigh, waited for a response of some sort. Finally, after a long agonizing minute, he heard Blair say, "It's open." 

He pushed open one of the doors and stood just inside the entrance. Blair was seated on his bed, book in his lap, glasses perched on his nose, hair tied back in a loose ponytail. He looked oddly young, terribly vulnerable, and Jim couldn't help but wonder if he was hurting as badly as Jim was. 

"The Major Crimes picnic is tomorrow," he reminded his Guide, not really knowing what else to say. 

Blair just nodded, not meeting his gaze. "You don't want me to go," he guessed. 

Jim's throat tightened. How could so few words hurt so badly? "Of course I want you to go," he assured him. "Everyone will be expecting you." 

"Oh. . . okay," Blair still didn't look at him. 

Jim frowned. "You hungry? I could cook something. . . " 

"I'm not hungry." 

"Oh. . ." Jim shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His hands, he discovered were shaking, and his stomach hurt from being so tied in knots. He didn't know what to say. His gaze moved desperately over Blair's features, looking for some sign, some clue about what he should do. His eyes honed in on the mark visible just above the collar of Blair's tank top--he could still make out the teeth marks where he'd bitten his Guide. His breath caught in his throat. "I. . .I guess, I'll let you get back to your reading then. . . ." 

He turned to leave. 

"Jim?" Blair's voice stopped him and he turned swiftly, desperately. Fix this! He begged silently. Blair had to know what to do--he was the Guide after all. 

Blair's eyes were wide and uncertain, and in their depths Jim could see so much pain and sorrow that he thought his heart would shatter. 

"Yes?" he asked, praying that one of them would find some words to say--if not to fix this, at least to make it stop hurting so damned much. 

But Blair, it seemed was just as much at a loss. He sighed and shook his head, turning away. "Nothing," he muttered. 

"Oh. . . good night then." Regretfully, Jim backed out of the room and closed the door. The silence on the other side of the French doors was nearly deafening. 

* * *

They hardly spoke two words to each other the following morning. Both of them avoided the other until it was time to leave the loft for the picnic. The only bright side was that the day itself was beautiful--sunny and warm, perfect weather for a day at the beach. Packing the food they'd promised to bring, the two of them moved about each other in silence. Though they drove together in Jim's truck, they might as well have been worlds apart. By the time they reached the beach, both were relieved to have the company of other people between them. 

Despite the good company, for Jim the day dragged on. Blair seemed subdued, a fact that a couple of people commented on. He moved about the group, talking to people as he normally did. But there was just something off about his behavior--like he was lacking in energy. Jim knew exactly how he felt. 

He sat on a beach towel later in the day, beer in one hand, while he watched his Guide talking to a pretty, young woman. She was flirting with the young man, an act that annoyed Jim more so than usual. He felt tense, uncertain, as he watched the mating dance the woman seemed compelled to display around his Guide. Blair for his part responded as he usually did--all smiles and flashing eyes. But he didn't quite enter the dance as completely as he normally would have, as if keeping himself just out of range of the passes being thrown at him. 

He really was beautiful, Jim decided as he watched. Couldn't really blame the woman for flirting with him. Couldn't really blame anyone for wanting to catch him. If he had the chance, he'd-- 

Jim stiffened and looked away, sending his gaze out across the blue ocean waters. If he had the chance, he would do what exactly? Where precisely had his mind been going with that thought? If he had the chance he'd fuck him? Been there, done that, wasn't supposed to want to ever do it again. But somehow just the thought of touching Blair again made him ache with need. He couldn't afford to think about that any more. 

Or maybe he'd been thinking along different lines--if he'd had the chance he'd flirt with him? Maybe that was what he'd meant? God knew he and Blair had spent most of their friendship flirting with one another. Had never meant anything--just a weird form of male bonding that seemed to have worked well for the two of them. Couldn't do that now of course--once sex was added to the mix flirting took on a whole new meaning. 

Or maybe he meant he'd try to woo him--try to lure him back to his side without the whole Sentinel or wolf thing coming between them. Simply for his own sake. Just the two of them, two friends, two male friends. 

Jim groaned and shook his head--this wasn't really about being men at all, he realized. This was just about him and Blair--or rather he wished it was just about him and Blair. But somehow they'd gotten stuck in some unforgiving genetic imperative that didn't seem to care about their genders, their emotions, or their own personal desires. He'd fucked Blair to save his life--the universe couldn't care less that he'd enjoyed it. That didn't matter. And Blair--he'd let Jim fuck him because he'd needed it--from anyone available. Any Alpha male would have done just as well. And never mind the fact that he'd told Jim that he'd done the right thing--Blair probably hated it, hated him. He'd have to hate him--wouldn't have said what he'd said about Alex if he didn't. And truth be told, Jim couldn't blame him. Not one damned bit. Right now he hated himself. 

He heard someone laughing nearby, heard Joel saying words that snapped him out of his thoughts with a jolt of shock. "Hey, look at that, Sandburg has a new best friend." More laughter followed. 

New best friend. Jim's heart lurched and he snapped his head around swiftly, looking for his Guide. He spotted him almost immediately though he was several hundred yards away, moving off down the beach. Not with the woman--Jim hadn't noticed him leaving the group. Rather he was in the company of an enormous German Shepard. Blair was throwing a ball--the dog and Sandburg were then both chasing it. The dog would get it first, race around Sandburg several times before giving up the ball. Then Blair would throw it again--with each successive throw, the two of them were moving farther and farther away from the group. For the first time in hours, Sandburg seemed alive and animated. 

"Don't worry about him, Jim," Simon spoke up seeing the look of alarm on Jim's face. The police Captain tossed Jim another beer. "That's Max." 

"Max?" He could hear Blair's laughter echoing back across the sound. The sunlight glinted in the highlights of his wind-tangled hair, and even from this distance Jim could see the flush of excitement on Blair's cheeks. 

"He's here with Pete Rodgers. You remember Rodgers from the K9 unit?" he motioned toward an older man sitting near Megan not far away. 

Rodgers waved to Jim good-naturedly. "Max is my partner," he explained to Jim. "Don't worry, he won't bite." 

"No, but Sandburg might," Jim muttered. 

"What are you worried about?" Simon laughed. "He's got a police dog with him." 

Blair and Max were getting farther and farther away--too caught up in their game to realize they were wandering off. Jim stood up. "Come on, Simon," he groused. "This is Sandburg we're talking about. If we leave them alone for too long, they'll uncover a terrorist plot to take over the world." He headed down the beach after them. 

With his hearing dialed up, he heard the comments the others said--mostly about how overly protective Ellison was, or who should be kept on a leash--the kid or the dog. And finally one parting shot from Rodgers, said with a trace of confusion, "You know, I've never actually seen Max take to a stranger like that. Rather odd really." 

It took Jim a while to catch up to Blair. He and Max had covered a great deal of ground with their game. As he followed them, he kept a close eye on them, worried that they would get into some trouble. Despite the beautiful day, there weren't a lot of other people on the beach, and Blair had managed to wander off into a less populated stretch of sand. 

Blair stopped running after a while, and Jim watched as he sat down on the sand to stare out at the crashing water. Max began happily frolicking in the surf before him. And then suddenly Jim noticed Blair's body grow unnaturally still--Jim paused, tensing, wondering what had just happened. Blair was not moving--looking somewhat stiff and unnatural as he sat in the sand staring straight ahead into the horizon. And Max--Jim's eyes widened in disbelief as the dog suddenly stopped his playful leaping and turned swiftly, staring back at Blair intently. The dog's entire body grew still, then seemed to quiver in anticipation. And then suddenly the dog started running--not playing any more, simply running as if for the pure joy of the experience. He took off like a bullet, outracing the wind as he shot up and down the beach several times, turning on a dime and racing back and forth. And Jim knew--he knew what Blair had just done. 

Terror and rage nearly blinded Jim and he ran the final distance to Blair's side, cursing under his breath every step of the way. How could Blair do this? Why would he do this? 

He fell to his knees in the sand beside Blair, caught his Guide's arm in a bruising grip. "Damn you!" he hissed. "God damn you!" 

He shook him; Blair didn't respond, but out of the corner of his eye Jim saw the dog stop immediately. Max turned, and Jim met his gaze--feral eyes gleaming with awareness unnatural to the animal. 

"Don't you do this! Don't you goddamn do this!" Jim cursed, terrified that this time he wouldn't get Blair back--this time Simon or someone else would cart him off to a hospital--and once there, once out of Jim's control, he'd be taken from Jim, stolen away by Marco or another Alpha. 

Abruptly he felt Blair's hands on his arms, heard Blair calling him as if pulling him back from a zone out. He stared in shock into his Guide's face--Blair was awake, aware, and Max was now simply watching them with a goofy dog-look. The world was normal again. 

"Blair?" Jim stared at him in shock. 

"I'm fine, Jim," Blair assured him immediately. "I'm here. I'm fine." 

Jim sat back on his heels, feeling drained. "God damn you, Sandburg. You were in that damned dog!" 

"I know," Blair nodded. "It's okay." 

"Why?" Jim couldn't for the life of him fathom why Blair would do something like this. 

Blair frowned and shrugged. "I just wanted to see if I could." 

"What?" Jim stared at him incredulously. "Why in hell would you do something like this? You almost died the last time?" 

"Only because it was the first time and I didn't know how to come back, Jim," Blair explained, his tone soothing as if trying to calm him down. Jim didn't want to be calmed down. "I know how now. There's nothing to be worried about." 

"What in hell are you talking about? You can't do this, Sandburg! You can't go around doing this!" 

Blair just stared at him in confusion. "Why not?" 

"Why not?" Jim grasped desperately for words. His mind was still in shock. "Well. . .first off. . .that's, that's. . .it's a dog!" Not quite what he intended to say, but it gave him a moment to think up something else. 

"I know," Blair nodded, glancing almost ruefully at Max. "He's less wild, less feral, not nearly as liberating--but the similarities to a wolf are close enough." 

"Liberating!" Jim glared at him. "Are you listening to yourself? You can't do this! It isn't normal!" 

Blair's blue eyes flashed with sudden anger. "Normal? It's part of me now, Jim! I can't just turn it off--any more than you can turn off your senses. It's who I am." 

"You're my Guide," Jim insisted, denying him any other life. 

"I'm also a Shaman," Blair reminded him. "And let me point out that you saw the wolf in me long before I did. I can't just forget about this, pretend it didn't happen." 

"Why not?!" 

"Because I like it," Blair insisted. 

Jim felt like he'd been punched in the face. "You like it? What part of this do you like, Sandburg? Being in the mind of a predator? The possibility that you might hunt down and kill a human being without suffering any consequences? Let's face it--Tristan committed the perfect murder." 

Blair's face paled even as his eyes lit with fury. "I'm not Tristan! God, Jim! How could you even think such a thing?" He turned away, fury radiating in his tense body. 

Jim would have reacted with anger--would have lashed out again with cutting words if he hadn't seen the hurt in Blair's eyes just before he looked away. He forced himself to rein in his anger. "Then explain it to me," he pleaded, needing to understand. 

For a long moment, he though Blair would not answer. Finally however his Guide sighed and just shook his head in confusion. "It's like suddenly learning you can fly, Jim. You don't ever want to touch the ground again." 

"From being in the mind of a wolf?" Jim demanded. 

"No," Blair sighed. "You're breaking it down to its most base component. It's the bloody 'call of the wild' man. It's discovering that you're a force of nature." He shook his head. "Jim, it's in my blood. It's who my family is. It's who I am." 

Wolves--Jim shuddered. A part of him could understand exactly what Blair was describing--he'd felt it himself once or twice when he'd touched on the most wild, primitive part of himself. Could feel it when the jaguar raged beside him. But wolves were wild, couldn't be tamed. He could lose Blair to this--how in hell was he supposed to cage an animal that was meant to live free? 

"It's not who Naomi is," Jim reasoned, trying to invoke the name of someone Blair felt more loyalty to than his 'pack'. "There has to be a reason she kept you away from your family. She knows more about this than you do--she didn't want you with them. She was afraid for you." 

But Blair shook his head. "It's not the wolf Naomi feared," he told him. "It was the Alphas. Naomi is a gypsy at heart and she couldn't bear the thought of me being enslaved to an Alpha like Tristan. Wolves are pack animals and they're ruled by the lead Alpha." 

Enslaved? Jim balked at the word. Is that was this was? Did Blair now feel that he was somehow enslaved to Jim? He couldn't bring himself to ask the question. 

"God damn it, Sandburg," Jim just cursed, unable to think straight. They both fell silent for a long moment. Overhead a group of gulls screamed, and Max barked happily up at them. 

"Do you want me to leave, Jim?" Blair asked quietly, his body still vibrating with nervous energy. It was setting Jim on edge. 

"Leave?" Jim stared at him. Blair couldn't possibly be suggesting such a thing. "And go where? Back to Germany? Back to Marco? Over my dead body!" The very thought. . . .his eyes burned. 

Blair flinched back from him. "What?" 

Jim growled and climbed to his feet, moving down to the water's edge. Anything--just to put some distance between himself and Blair--if he didn't, he wasn't certain what he might do. "You're my Guide," he stated coldly. 

"I know," Blair murmured. 

"Do you?" Jim turned, glaring at him. Blair stared back at him in lost confusion. "Do you really have any idea at all what that means? What happens to me if you leave? What happens to me if you're not here to ground me? Do you even care?" 

"Of course I care! How can you ask me that?" 

"Because if you did, if you really cared, you wouldn't talk about leaving! Shit!" He turned away again in fury, unable to bear the look in Blair's eyes. "I hate this! I hate every part of this!" 

"I'm sorry," Blair's voice was low and lost, and filled with sorrow. 

"Sorry?" Jim laughed. "What in hell are you sorry for? It's not your fault. You said it yourself--it's in your blood. It's in my blood. It's fucking genetics! And there's not a God damned thing either of us can do about it." 

And Blair it seemed didn't have a reply to that. They waited in silence, both listening to the scream of the gulls and the pounding of the surf, Jim wishing again for the hundredth time that he knew what to do to fix this. Finally his senses drew him back to the present. "We should get back," he sighed. "The others are wondering what's wrong. And dinner is ready." 

"All right," Blair sighed, climbing to his feet. Max immediately raced to his side. "I'm hungry." 

They began walking back toward the others, Max racing ahead. Jim heard Blair's stomach growl. Despite the distance between them he could still feel the tenseness in Blair's body. "You sure you're alright?" 

"Just restless," Blair replied. "There's a strange energy in me. . .but I'm fine. I wasn't in any danger, really. . ." 

Jim just snorted in disgust. "Assuming no one decides to shoot you in your canine form. Near as I can figure, if your mind is in the animal when it dies, you die or drop into coma or something." 

"Lupine." 

"What?" 

"Canine is for dogs, wolves are lupine," Blair explained. "I think Max is part wolf actually. . .somewhere in his ancestry. Lot of half breeds in Cascade, you know. I can feel them all over the city." 

"Oh, God!" Jim groaned, not certain he should fear the threat of the lecture, or the possibility that Blair might decide to take yet another jaunt into the mind of someone's pet wolf. 

"I'm really hungry!" Blair said suddenly, as if surprised by the discovery. He took off after Max at a quick run. "Come on, Jim," he called over his shoulder. "Don't want to miss dinner." 

"Blair!" Jim stared after him in disbelief. 

"I'm hungry!" Blair insisted. 

"You do still want your meat cooked, right?" 

He almost laughed as Blair flipped him the finger. At least not everything had changed. 

Over the next few hours, Jim and the gang of Major Crimes watched Blair with something akin to awe. Had he been surrounded by walls, the Anthropologist would have been bouncing off of them. If circumstances had been different, Jim might have been amused. As it was, he was just perplexed--especially after Blair's previously subdued manner. Now it was like he had too much energy to contain. 

The constant stream of talking wasn't that unusual, nor was the animation--but this was extreme even for Blair. He couldn't seem to sit still. He managed eventually to organize a game of touch football with some of the detectives. The others played briefly, more interested in drinking and relaxing. When they gave up, Blair tried another group. Eventually he gave up all together on the adults and moved off down the beach to join a group of teenagers playing volleyball. From the looks of things he was running rings around the kids as well. 

"What in hell did you put in his hamburger?" Joel laughed in amusement. "He makes me tired just watching him." 

"Yeah, Jim," Simon agreed. "You been slipping the kid vitamins again?" 

Jim just shrugged. "It must be the fresh air, Simon." 

"Well, whatever it is, I want some!" Megan laughed. "Too bad you can't bottle that energy." 

He wasn't intended to hear the other comments--the ones some of the women said under their breaths to one another about what they'd like to do to help Blair burn off that energy. But as a Sentinel there was very little he missed. He sat in silence and listened with growing anger while they discussed strategies to get Blair to go home with them instead of Jim. They made it sound like all they had to do was perform certain tactical maneuvers to catch Blair--like it was some battle. The very thought set him on edge. 

He was ready for them when they decided to make their individual moves--the continued flirtations, the offers they had prepared. By the time the sun began setting, and people began heading home, Jim was already packed up and ready to leave. He intercepted the women before they could reach Blair, placed a proprietary hand on the young man's shoulder, and steered him toward the truck. 

"Time to get going, Chief," he told Blair, who was somewhat startled to be led off the beach so abruptly. 

"Oh. . ." He turned and waved over his shoulder. "See you later!" he called to Simon and the others. They waved and called after him, and Jim ushered him quickly off toward the truck. If Blair even noticed the disappointed stares from the group of admiring women, he never said anything. 

* * *

Tired from the long day in the sun, and neither really ready to attempt another conversation after the last several disasters, both men retired fairly early that night. But hours after he had gone to bed, Jim lay awake listening to his Guide tossing and turning down below in his room. Worry had kept Jim from sleeping, concern about what had happened to both him and Blair, fear that he might never be able to set things right between them. He hated the strain this had put on their friendship--hated the fact that every time they spoke to each other they ended up saying the most hurtful things imaginable. And all, he suspected, because they were both feeling trapped. 

Ironically, Jim found himself thinking about a series of kids movies he'd seen when he was a child--stories about boys who'd found wolf cubs and raised them to adulthood, only to be left alone when the wolf took off into the wild to join up with a pack of his own. He'd always hated those movies--thought the endings sucked. But there'd always been some wise old adult in the story who would tell the grieving boy that it was better this way, that wolves belonged with their own kind. 

"Not a wolf," Marco had said. Jim wasn't their kind--wasn't one of Blair's pack. Not family. And yet he couldn't help remembering Blair's dream-- where one wolf had abandoned the woods in favor of the jungle. That had to mean something, he reasoned. Incacha had made Blair Jim's Shaman--Incacha wouldn't have done that if he thought Blair intended to leave him. 

But would Blair be happy here--would either of them be happy? And was he now supposed to be grateful for the fact that he could lay claim to Blair because of the Sentinel/Guide bond? It felt like a chain around his neck because he wanted there to be something more between them than just instinct--but if that was all he had, how could he hate it? Without it, Blair would be gone in an instant. 

Blair's restlessness had increased, and Jim heard him now pacing in his bedroom. He frowned, wondering why Blair couldn't sleep--he would have thought the young man would've been exhausted after the day he'd had. Blair's scent was strange too--somehow more intense than normal, wilder. And he could smell that musky scent he'd come to associate with the rest of the pack. It made him think of sex. 

He rolled over in his bed, clutching one of his pillows tightly to his chest as his body responded instinctively to that scent. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was going to drive him nuts, he suspected. How could he react so sexually to Blair? He wasn't supposed to want this at all. Hadn't he told Blair only three days ago in the middle of the Black Forest that he wasn't his type? Apparently he'd been lying. Big time. 

Blair paused suddenly in his pacing, and Jim heard the faint electronic sound of a phone being dialed. With his hearing dialed up, the voice that sounded over the telephone seemed loud. Jim sat up in shock. 

"Hello?" 

Jim recognized that voice immediately and he had to force himself to remain still, and just listen. 

"Marco, what in hell is wrong with me?" Blair hissed into the phone as if trying to keep his voice low enough to avoid the Sentinel sleeping above him. 

"Blair, calm down," Marco's voice was deep and melodious, a Guide-voice of sorts. Jim's stomach twisted. "What's wrong?" 

"I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin," Blair explained, sounding almost desperate. "I can't sit still, can't stop moving. . .I feel . . . shit! What is this. . .?" 

"Blair," Marco caught the young man's attention and Blair stopped talking. He did however start pacing again. Jim heard the restless footsteps moving back and forth. 

"You spirit-walked, didn't you?" Marco asked. 

Spirit-walked. Jim shivered--he supposed that was as good a name as any for what they did. Walked from one body to another. 

"Yes," Blair admitted. "There was a . . .a dog. . ." he sounded almost ashamed of the fact that it was a dog. "Part wolf. . .I just wanted to see if I could." 

"How long?" 

"What?" 

"How long were you in it?" Marco clarified. 

"I don't know. A couple of minutes maybe." 

Jim heard Marco sigh. "Not long enough, Blair. You're all right, you just weren't 'out' long enough." 

"What do you mean? What does that have to do with anything?" 

"It's a chemical thing, Blair," Marco explained. "Hormonal, I suppose. We have more energy than an average person--a lot more energy. It's why we tend to be so hyper all the time. What we do takes enormous amounts of energy. But the moment you spirit-walk your body produces a chemical that increases your metabolism. You're flooded with huge amounts of energy so that you have the strength to maintain contact with two bodies. But you have to stay 'out' for at least a couple of hours in order to burn off that excess energy and clear the chemical from your system. Otherwise it has no where to go." 

"Oh man!" Blair moaned. "You're kidding me?" 

Marco laughed softly. "There's a reason we spend our nights drinking, dancing and fucking, Blair. It keeps us healthy and sane." His words brought back images from the wild party that Jim had inadvertently stumbled on. That was their definition of sanity? Blair's pacing had increased. "What am I supposed to do now?" 

"You shouldn't have left the pack, Blair," Marco admonished gently. "You belong with us. We could have helped you through this. It's worse in the beginning. You'll get used to it eventually, but it never really goes away." 

"Marco," Blair sighed. "I had to leave. . .you know that. . .please. . ." 

"You'll be all right, Blair," Marco sighed. "You have two options." 

"Two?" 

"Spirit-walk again. Head off into the woods, run for hours. That's the best--that's the healthiest. You'll need to do it fairly regularly anyway--you'll go mad without it." 

"I'm in the middle of the city," Blair explained, and Jim could smell the scent of panic rising in him. "I can't just. . .there aren't any wolves near by." 

"You'll have to do something about that," Marco said simply. "If not tonight, then soon. You can't simply stay where you are. The call is too strong--sooner or later you'll have to heed it." 

"Then what do I do tonight? You said there were two options." 

Marco laughed at that. "That's easy. Go get that Detective of yours to fuck you into oblivion. That will burn the energy off." 

His words sent a shock of awareness through Jim's body. He grew completely still, listening to Blair's silence below. 

Marco too apparently heard the silence. "Blair?" 

"That's not likely to happen, Marco," Blair said quietly. 

This time it was Marco who fell silent. But only for a moment. His voice sounded angry when he spoke again. "I can be on a plane in an hour, Blair. I'll come get you. I'll bring you home." It was the Alpha again, asserting a claim, and Jim's hands closed into fists. He waited for Blair's response--wouldn't really matter what Blair said, he supposed, he wouldn't let him leave. Couldn't let him leave. But still, he had to hear, needed to hear Blair's decision. 

"No, Marco," Blair said softly. "I can't leave. You don't understand." 

"You're right Blair, I don't understand," Marco agreed. "He's not one of us. You belong with your own kind." 

"No, Marco," Blair said more firmly--and while Marco might be the Alpha, it seemed a Shaman had certain strengths all his own. Marco fell silent for a long moment. 

"As you wish," he said at last. "But if you change your mind, you just have to call me, Blair. I'll be there in hours." 

"I know." 

"What will you do tonight?" Marco asked in concern. 

"I guess there's really only one option," Blair sighed. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Marco." 

"Good luck." Marco hung up. 

Jim listened as Blair switched off the phone, and then he waited in tense silence as Blair opened the doors. Only one option--what would Blair do? Call him? Come up the stairs to his room? The very thought of his Guide standing there beside his bed asking for Jim's touch, needing it, his body aching for it--Jim felt as if he'd been lit on fire. His hands trembled, energy coursing through his veins. 

He listened as his Guide crossed the floor toward the stairs. His cock grew hard with each step, his heart pounding in anticipation. It was all he could do not to start stroking himself. 

And then. . . .he heard the sound of the balcony doors opening, of Blair stepping out into the moonlight. And beyond the city sounds he heard the sudden restless barking of neighborhood dogs, as if they'd awakened and responded to a call only they could hear. And Jim knew what Blair had chosen. 

Fury slammed through him. He was out of bed and storming down the stairs before making a conscious thought to do so. Blair, clad only in boxers, stood at the edge of the balcony, unmoving, face turned to the wind as if searching for something only he could detect. Not gone yet--not spirit-walking--but only moments from it, only moments from leaving Jim behind. 

Jim didn't think. He simply caught Blair by the arm and dragged him back inside the loft. Blair stumbled in Jim's grasp, only just catching his footing as Jim shut and locked the balcony doors. "Jim?" Blair looked shocked, stunned by Jim's actions. 

"You're not doing this, Sandburg!" Jim growled. "It's not safe!" 

Blair's eyes were somewhat dazed, and Jim could see now the state he was in--the young man was vibrating with the excess energy. Anger flashed across his face. "Leave me alone!" he shouted. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't understand." "I know that if you take a dog and start running through the city and get hit by a car, you'll die!" Jim informed him. There was a reason wolf packs didn't run through city streets--civilization killed them. 

"That won't happen!" Blair snapped. "I'm not stupid!" He began pacing again, frantically, moving violently back and forth across the living room floor. To Jim he looked remarkably like an animal trapped in a cage. 

"You don't know that!" Jim shouted back. "You don't know what kind of control you have. What if you lose your sense of self the longer you're out there. What if you forget the dangers? It's too new! You don't know what your limitations are!" 

"Then maybe I should have stayed with the pack!" Blair growled, pacing swiftly. He kept looking toward the balcony doors, his eyes growing frantic as if searching for a way out. Jim suspected it was only a matter of moments before he bolted--either to the balcony or out the front door. 

Jim, shaking with anger at the thought of Blair going back to the pack, crossed the distance to his Guide, moving up behind him and catching hold of his shoulders. Blair struggled against his grip, trying to get away. Jim pulled him back against him, plastering his body against Blair's back. He could feel the energy coursing through Blair's veins, it was radiating off him as heat. So hot, he thought Blair might burn up--was certainly running a fever that could land him in a hospital if it continued. 

Blair struggled again, and Jim slid his arms around him, pulling him tightly back against his body. It was like touching a live wire, igniting all of Jim's senses. Blair gasped at the contact, his struggles ceasing as he arched back against Jim, feeling the heat of Jim's cock against his lower back. The sheer blind need that burned through Jim made him moan with the contact as he buried his face against Blair's neck, drinking in his scent. 

Blair rocked back against him, throat bared and arched, eyes closed, mouth opened as he gasped for breath. It was almost like they were back at that wild party again, music surrounding them, the pounding beat moving through both their veins, driving them forward. Blair was certainly lost in his need, no longer fighting but grinding seductively back against Jim's erection. The scent of arousal coming off him washed through Jim like a drug. 

"Please," Blair moaned, and Jim couldn't wait a moment longer, had to have him now, this instant. He pulled Blair back, stumbled toward the open doors of Blair's bedroom, hands moving over Blair's body, soaking up the heat in the trembling muscles. And Blair's cock was so hard, and the groan of desperation that came from Blair's lips as Jim closed his hand over it was like music. Jim licked the burning skin behind Blair's ear. The taste of his Guide's skin made him desperate for more. He shoved Blair face down across his bed and yanked the young man's shorts off frantically. Blair went willingly, spreading his legs even as he ground his hips into the mattress, desperate to release his own need. The sight was nearly too much for Jim; he fought back the urge to come right there on the spot, scrambling desperately to remove his own clothing, stripping down to bare skin. 

He was on Blair in an instant, spreading the young man's legs farther apart as he lay between them, desperately grinding his hips against the firm muscles of Blair's ass. His cock slipped between those hot cheeks, fighting for entrance. Jim was nearly mindless with need, wanting to be inside that heat. But God, it was so tight! He pushed against the barrier, and Blair moaned in pain. Jim froze instantly, knowing something wasn't right--it had been easier last time, so much easier to push inside that tight channel. But despite the pain, Blair was making no move to push away--if anything he was more frantic now, begging with his gasping breath. 

Jim hissed in desperation, sorely lacking in knowledge despite having done this once before--oil, there had been oil last time. Even Tristan, cruel controlling Tristan, had used something to ease the way, to spare Blair the pain of entry. Jim shuddered; he would hurt his Guide if he continued, damage him. He pulled away, looking frantically around the room. There had to be something. 

"Please, Jim!" Blair gasped. "Please! Don't stop!" 

Hearing his name on Blair's lips--knowing his Guide was aware this time that it was him, doing this with him--it was intoxicating and Jim found himself trembling with need. A frantic search of the nightstand produced a bottle of massage oil. Popping the lid, Jim smeared a generous amount onto his hand, then he moved again back to Blair, slicking up his own cock even as he probed Blair's entrance with his fingers. 

The first touch made Blair moan in pleasure, and as Jim pushed his finger inside, Blair thrust back hard against him, driving him in deeper. Blair's hands closed into fists around the bed clothes, and he pulled in his knees to gain better leverage, pushing back harder as if desperate to take Jim in as deep as he could. He cried out, calling Jim's name with each thrust, begging for more. Shaking from the effort to control himself, Jim worked another finger inside that tight opening. The hot pressure around his fingers was exhilarating, and he didn't think he could wait another moment. Removing his fingers he caught hold of Blair's hips and positioned himself against his opening. Slowly he began pushing in, savoring each new sensation as his cock disappeared inside Blair's body. The moans coming from Blair's lips nearly drove him mad, as did the frantic way Blair rocked back against him, seeking to drive him in harder, deeper. Jim kept control this time, holding Blair's hips firmly so he could inch his way in without fear of hurting him. 

Such pleasure, coursing through every inch of his body--he whispered Blair's name and rocked inside him as Blair held on for dear life. And then the thrusts--slow at first, but building as his body began trembling uncontrollably with need. He leaned hard into Blair's body, holding him tightly against him, and he sought out the tender skin beneath Blair's left ear again, kissing it, tasting it as he drove into his body. "You're so tight," he breathed against Blair's ear. "So hot!" And he thought Blair might shake apart in his hands, lost now in the throws of mindless ecstasy. 

He wanted to feel again the strength of Blair's cock in his hands, and he reached around him, stroking that heat. His touch was too much. Blair's whole body stiffened and spasmed, and he cried Jim's name as he came. 

His name on those lips, that body shuddering and tightening around him--Jim felt his own control slip loose and he pounded into that body, pleasure exploding through him as he came hard and deep inside him. They both collapsed onto the bed, and Jim still lost in a haze of bliss, finished with several more shallow thrusts as he lay on top of his Guide. 

He held onto to Blair, unwilling to part from him, savoring his scent, his heat, the steady beat of his heart against Jim's own. Both of them were trembling, twitching in the afterglow. He buried his face against Blair's neck, soaking in the feel of the soft curls brushing his skin. He shifted slightly to the side, keeping Blair flush against him, but taking his weight off the smaller man. The subtle shifts made Blair moan, and Jim felt himself slipping out of Blair's body. 

Concerned that he might have hurt Blair, he slid his hand between them, probing gently between Blair's legs, seeking his opening. Blair gasped and shivered as he fingered him briefly, seeking signs of tearing or bleeding. Not finding either, his touch turned teasing, and he simply stroked his fingers over the heated opening, enjoying the slick feel of his own semen there. His mind shied away from words and thoughts, not wanting to acknowledge just what it was he had done, what he was still doing, what it might mean for tomorrow. He didn't want to think at all--just wanted to lie here and hold Blair in his arms. 

Blair shifted his legs--giving Jim better access he realized--a thrill of awareness shot through Jim's body. At the moment he felt too spent to go again--but this touching was nice--they hadn't had a chance to do this the first time. It occurred to him suddenly that they hadn't actually kissed yet--he wondered what it would take to get Blair to turn around so he could remedy that. 

"How often," Blair whispered suddenly--and despite Jim's blissful haze of pleasure, he heard the note of strain in his Guide's voice. 

"What?" he whispered back, confused, not really wanting to talk, not wanting to face any of this just yet. 

"How often will you fuck me like this?" Blair clarified. 

The bottom dropped out of Jim's stomach. He tensed--something was definitely off, definitely wrong. He stilled his hand, moving it instead to Blair's hip. "What are you talking about?" 

Blair wasn't so much trembling now as he was shaking. "How often will you fuck me like this?" Blair repeated. "Once a month? Once a week? I need to know. . ." 

Jim sat up abruptly. He stared down at his Guide in shock. "What in hell are you talking about?" 

Blair turned, his expression strangely distant considering he was lying naked on his bed. "You obviously listened in on my conversation with Marco," Blair informed him. "You know my situation here. You know why I needed this. So I need to know how often I can count on it?" 

"How often you can count on it?" Jim glared incredulously. "You're asking me to tell you how often I'm willing to fuck you?" 

"You can give me some sort of estimate, can't you?" Blair demanded. 

Fury shook through Jim. He rose to his feet. "Go fuck yourself, Sandburg," he snarled and stalked out of the room. He had to get away from Blair before he did something they'd both regret--he slammed the door to the bathroom and climbed into the shower, turning the water on full force. 

How often would he fuck him? God damn him! God damn! How could he ask something like that? What in hell was this? Service on demand? No wonder they hadn't kissed--seems all was still fine with the world. They were both still completely, safely straight--this was nothing more than the proverbial 'buddy-fuck' he thought he'd been avoiding. He struck his fist against the tile of the shower. God damn him! He wasn't certain who he was angrier with at the moment--Blair for doing this to him, or himself for caring. 

He hid out in the shower for as long as he could--the water grew cold eventually. His body however had long since taken a chill, feeling bereft in a way he'd never before experienced. Twice now he'd fucked Blair--the first time Blair had gotten blind drunk afterwards. The second time he'd acted like they'd agreed on some sort of business contract. He wasn't certain which was worse. 

This time was worse, he told himself. This time Blair had been conscious and aware through the whole thing--this time Blair's response had been more real. 

This time Blair had not kissed him. 

Toweling off, Jim stepped reluctantly out of the bathroom. He knew the moment he did so that Blair was no longer in the loft. 

Panic reached out and gripped Jim's soul. He thought first of Marco--that somehow Marco had come for him, taken him away. But no--Marco was still in Germany. Even with a private jet it would take hours before he could get here. No, Blair had left on his own. Blair had left the loft, left Jim. Without a kiss, without an understanding, without an agreement. A wild thought flared through his mind--that maybe he should have said something--given Blair a number--once a week, once a month, once a day--anything. . . just so he'd know when Blair was coming back. 

He raced quickly upstairs to his room and pulled on his clothes, cursing under his breath as he rummaged through his closet for his shoes. He was taking too much time--Blair might be gone already--on a plane to Germany. Surely he could have called Marco while Jim was in the shower and told him to have the family jet waiting for him at the airport. He could be gone long before Jim ever got there--he might never find him again. 

Jim stilled suddenly--what if that wasn't it at all? What if Blair had gone out looking for a wolf instead? Dear God! He could be out there right now, his body zoned and catatonic while his soul ran free through the mind of an animal. 

Grabbing his keys he raced out of the loft, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste to get to the bottom. 

He knew the moment he reached the parking lot that Blair had not gone to the airport. His car was still there. He'd set out on foot then--took off in some unknown direction. Pausing on Prospect, Jim took a deep breath, inhaling the night air. There was a storm blowing in--a strong wind picking up. He could smell rain coming--a few more hours and this place would be drenched. But there. . .on the wind. . .he caught Blair's sent. Thankfully Blair had headed into the storm, moving off toward the beach--his scent carried all the way back to Jim easily. His scent and Jim's mixed with it--the Sentinel imagined he could track that scent through an ice storm if necessary. 

He took off running, determined to catch up to Blair. He'd spent too much time in the shower. If Blair had left right after Jim had started showering, he could be far out of range by now--in all sorts of trouble already. And if one of those animals Jim had heard howling earlier happened to cross Blair's path--God only knew where Blair might be now. 

Sandburg was on the beach. Jim cleared a parking lot and climbed over a floodwater breakwall, and then scanned the long deserted expanse of beach below him. Pitch black save for a few periodic streetlights giving out a pitiful glow here and there--it looked empy. The storm blowing in had already blocked out the light of the moon, and the water and sand were nearly indistinguishable from one another. Still, Jim managed to spot Blair sitting down on the sand not far from a large pile of rocks. He was dressed in a pair of torn jeans, his old sneakers, and a single flannel shirt--Jim could only imagine he must be freezing. The temperature was beginning to drop as the wind picked up. Silently Jim made his way across the sand toward him, searching his still form for some clue as to what was going on. 

No wolves around--no dogs either. That at least was something. And Blair, while unmoving, didn't have that unnatural stillness about him that Jim associated with a spirit-walk. He was still here, still present and accounted for. But there was something so lost and distant looking in his face. He hadn't bothered to tie his hair back and the wind whipped the dark locks about his face--he looked wild, untamed. Jim sucked in a deep breath. He was beautiful. 

Jim paused for a long moment and just stood in the darkness staring at his Guide, mindless of the wind buffeting his body. There was a paleness to Blair's skin and a faint blue tinge to his lips that Jim did not like, and for one horrible moment he was transported back to that morning by the university fountain. "Come on in, Jim, the water's fine," Blair had said back then. But the water wasn't fine--the water had killed him. And Jim no longer knew what was happening between them. 

Steeling his heart he moved the last few feet to Blair's side and sat down beside him. He could feel the heat pouring off his Guide's body, could still smell the scent of sex clinging to him. He wanted suddenly to warm Blair's lips with his own, and wondered what Blair would do if he just leaned over and kissed him. 

"I don't understand what's happening," Jim told him quietly, deciding that honesty was the only route left to him. 

"With the wolves?" Blair asked for clarification. 

Jim shivered. He loved the sound of Blair's voice. "With us." 

"Ah," Blair nodded in agreement, but fell silent then. 

Jim waited, staring out across the dark water. The tide was still far out, not threatening them in any way--but the rain wasn't too much farther off. He turned then in the darkness to stare at his Guide, wondering what would prompt him to speak. Nights like this, conversations in the dark--he hated them really. They always signaled either the end of something or the beginning of something else. He wasn't certain which he feared more. Was Blair going to end their friendship--end their partnership? Was he going to announce his decision to rejoin his family and begin a new life with them? And did Jim even have the power anymore to affect any decision Blair might make? 

Or what if this was the beginning of a new life with Jim--a new life based on genetic imperatives and physical needs? Something so much less than even the friendship they'd shared. He feared his heart would shatter. 

"It's simple really, Jim," Blair said at last. "Wolves mate for life." 

Simple. 

Really. 

And apparently Blair was going to explain no further than that. Which meant Jim was left to interpret what it was he thought that might mean, in light of all the conversations they'd had these last few days. 

"So what does that mean? Are you saying that we're. . .we're m..married or something, and that unless I give you some sort of schedule, tell you how often I'm willing to . . .to fuck you, you'll divorce me and go back to Marco?" Jim stumbled over the words, nearly choking on some of them in an effort to get them out. Worse case scenario--their friendship was already over, and nothing he could say could make things any worse. 

"No." 

Startled, Jim could only stare at Blair. "No?" 

Blair shook his head, his curls tangling briefly about his face before the wind swept them back again. "You're batting a thousand, Jim. Got it wrong on all accounts." 

"Then explain it to me," Jim demanded. 

"Wolves mate for life," Blair just shrugged. "You're not a wolf. Last I checked, cats just go into heat." 

His words made Jim angry again. "God damn it! I'm not a cat. I'm human. So are you!" 

"Yes, Jim, but you're also a Sentinel," Blair shouted back. "And I am. . .what I am. And there's nothing either of us can do about that." 

"And because I'm not one of the pack--" Jim said the words as if it were dirt. "--that means I can't understand what's going on? I can't. . .you and I aren't. . ." 

"You aren't stuck! You dumb shit!" Blair pushed Jim, shoving at his shoulders in anger. Caught off guard, Jim fell backward onto the sand, momentarily pinned by Blair's weight as he stared down at him in fury. "You aren't stuck! I'm mated for life! I'm yours--body and soul! You, however, are free to go fuck whomever you want. I'm stuck! I'm so. . . " He pushed away abruptly and got up, taking several swift steps away from Jim. He stood staring out to sea, arms wrapped around his shivering body. "God. . .I'm so fucked. . ." He laughed when he said it, but there was nothing humorous in his voice. It broke and shook as if he were in pain. 

Jim slowly sat up, staring at Blair in alarm. His mind was working over time trying to process what he'd just heard. "Chief?" 

"The woman at the picnic today," Blair said. "She was beautiful and she wanted me. And I felt nothing. Nothing! A week ago I just had to look at a woman to get turned on. Now. . .now there's nothing. I used to at least still have that." 

Still have that? Jim frowned. Something else Blair had said--something important. He replayed the words over and over again. 

"I can't even get mad at you," Blair sighed. "I can't even get mad at you for not letting Marco have me." 

Jim's stomach clenched at that thought--his heart tightening in his chest. Was that what this was about? Jim should have let Marco. . . 

"Tristan," Blair whispered, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge a memory. "I fought him. Despite the horrible things you said to me, I fought him. But there just didn't seem to be anything I could do. I had no control at all. And Marco. . .I should hate you for not giving me to Marco. At least he wants me. But I would have fought that too. Granted, I would have lost. But I still would have fought. He thought he could make me happy. Still does, actually. But the thought of leaving you. . ." He shuddered. "That's the part neither of them could understand." 

And then Jim found it--the thing Blair had said. The thing that set off Claxton warnings in his head. "Body and soul," he repeated. 

Blair stiffened. "What?" 

"Body and soul. You said you were mine, body and soul. I get the body thing--I understand that. It's instinct, genetics, chemical--on the wolf level. Or a territorial imperative on the Sentinel level. I understand that. But you said 'soul'. You said body and soul." 

Blair turned and stared at Jim as if he were crazy. There was a look of incredulous disbelief in his eyes. "Jesus, Jim!" he said in disgust. "You had my soul long before you ever had my body. You know that!" 

"You left the woods forsaken in favor of the jungle," Jim murmured in growing wonder. "That's what you meant. You left the woods for me." 

Blair looked furious and upset and hurt, and for a moment Jim thought he might try to hit him again. "I left the fucking Land of the Dead for you! You understand the body thing? You can accept the fact that you have a desperately horny roommate that's hot for you, but God help us if there should be any actual emotions involved! Fuck you, Ellison!" Blair turned and took off down the beach, his fury sparking from him like electricity. 

Jim was after him in an instant, racing down the beach to catch hold of his arm. He managed to block Blair's swing before it landed this time, catching hold of both his arms and pulling him tightly against his body, effectively trapping him. When Blair fought back, Jim simply tripped him and they both went down in the sand, Blair landing beneath him. Jim straddled his hips, holding him down while he pinned his arms over his head with both hands. He couldn't help remembering being in an identical position only days ago in the Black Forest. This time however he made no effort to hide the fact that everything about this turned him on. 

Blair struggled beneath him, trying to get away. Jim just held him down, waiting patiently for Blair to figure out that it wasn't going to work. Finally his Guide stilled, giving up. He lay beneath him glaring up at Jim, panting in fury when he realized he just wasn't strong enough to dislodge the Sentinel. 

"You may have left the Land of the Dead for me, Chief," Jim told him, gazing down into those burning eyes. "But in case you failed to notice, genius, I went into the Land of the Dead for you." 

Blair stilled, his eyes narrowing mistrustfully. Jim shifted his weight, let his erection brush against Blair's own. He heard his Guide's breath hitch in his throat. Jim smiled slowly. "This isn't complicated, Sandburg. Why do we always make things complicated? We've got all the pieces--we just have to put them together." 

"What in hell are you talking about?" Blair fumed. 

"The friendship thing--never been a problem for us," Jim explained. "We've had that since day one. As for the body thing--okay, I guess the fact that we're both men threw us for a loop, but let's face it--between hyperactive senses, spirit guides and werewolves, I think gender is the least of our worries. So let me go on record as saying that I like having sex with you, Sandburg." 

He laughed softly at the shocked look in Blair's eyes. Bending swiftly he nuzzled his Guide's left ear. "I like everything about it," he murmured against the skin of Blair's throat. "I love the way you taste, the way you smell, the sounds you make when you come." He bit Blair's earlobe, heard him gasp in reaction, heat pouring off both their bodies so they didn't notice the cold wind whipping past them. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, thrilling at the shudder that ran through his Guide's body. A soft desperate moan escaped Blair's lips and Jim drew back, staring down at him again. Blair looked dazed and uncertain now. 

"As for the love thing," Jim continued. "You just admitted that you loved me--" 

"I did not!" Blair protested, struggling again against Jim's hold. 

Jim glared down at him, pushing his wrists deeper into the sand even as he tightened his legs around Blair's hips. "You deny it?!" 

Blair stopped struggling and met Jim's angry gaze. He looked at once bewildered and hurt. Finally he just looked away and shook his head, unable to deny it. 

"Then I just gotta know one thing, Chief," Jim told him. "You just have to answer one question for me." 

For a long moment it looked as if Blair wasn't going to play--wasn't going to even meet his gaze again. In fact he shut his eyes, blocking Jim out. Jim waited patiently, heart in his throat. "You came back from the dead for me, Chief," Jim murmured softly. "How much harder could it be to answer one simple question for me?" 

He saw Blair's lips tighten as if he were biting back an angry retort, but Blair finally looked up, nodding slightly, indicating his willingness to answer. 

"If none of this had happened," Jim began, his heart pounding with nervous energy. "If we were just friends--without this Sentinel/Guide thing between us, or this wolf thing. There was no territorial imperative, no genetic instinct, no freaky spirit-guide-shaman mumbo jumbo. If it was just us, and I came to you and told you that I loved you, that I wanted to grow old with you, share my life with you--what would you say?" 

He saw Blair swallow, could hear the frantic way his Guide's heart pounded against his rib cage. "I'd say--" Blair swallowed again as if trying to clear his throat. The look in his eyes was so raw, almost painful to see. Jim held his breath. "I'd say. . . you're not gay." 

Jim let his breath out in an explosive sigh, nearly collapsing on top of Blair in exhaustion. Trust Blair to do it this way. "Fine, Sandburg," he growled softly. "Have it your way. Once a day." 

"What?" It was obviously not the response Blair had been expecting. Jim figured as much. His poor Guide had been through the wringer too many times--he didn't trust anything any more. 

"Your schedule, Sandburg," Jim explained. "How often I'll fuck you. Once a day." He shifted his hips, rubbing his cock against Blair's, creating just enough friction to tease them both. "Twice a day if you're nice about it." Then releasing Blair's arms, Jim slid one hand into his Guide's tangled hair, giving in at last to the urge to kiss him. He sealed his mouth over Blair's and conveyed with touch what he could not with words. 

Blair hesitated only a fraction of a second before surging up against him, returning his kiss in desperation, sobbing into Jim's mouth as he wrapped his arms around him as if he'd never let him go. When lack of oxygen forced them apart, there were tears streaming down Blair's face and Jim kissed them away, realizing in some surprise that he could taste some of his own tears mingled within them. 

"Do you really love me?" Blair asked, and the need in his voice was enough to light Jim on fire. 

"More than life," Jim whispered, sucking at Blair's lower lip. "More than life." 

Blair's arms tightened around him and he felt him shudder in response. "I love you," Blair said burying his face against Jim's neck. "I love you so much it hurts!" 

Jim leaned back, brushing Blair's hair away from his face. The wounded look was still there in his eyes, but it was fading beneath a new onslaught of hope. "You're just going to have to trust me to take the pain away, Blair. Can you do that?" 

Blair nodded--just nodded. His Guide, who had words for everything, had no words for this. Jim's heart swelled and he kissed him again, deeply, passionately. "We'll figure this out, Blair," he promised. "The Sentinel thing, the wolf thing--we'll figure it all out together. I promise." 

He stood swiftly, holding his hand out to his Guide. "Come home with me, Blair." 

Blair stared up at him for a long moment. Then he smiled and took Jim's hand, letting the Sentinel pull him to his feet. "Home," he agreed somewhat breathlessly. 

Grinning, Jim slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders in deference to the cold wind. His Guide fit perfectly against his side. 

"Twice a day, huh?" Blair asked as they walked. 

"Absolutely," Jim agreed whole-heartedly. "Three times if I can manage it--assuming I eat right and take all my vitamins. Did I mention I like having sex with you?" 

Blair laughed softly. "Yeah, I think you covered that part." 

Jim couldn't resist. "I'll cover all your parts if you let me." He slid his hand down Blair's back and gently squeezed his ass. 

"Jerk," Blair gasped. 

"Oh, come on," Jim teased. "You can do better than that." He pinched Blair this time. 

"Fuck you, Ellison!" Blair laughed, squirming out of his grasp. 

"Promises promises," Jim taunted. 

It started to rain. 

Neither of them noticed. 

* * *

Epilogue 

With William Ellison's help, it took less than a month. The Escrow closed on the new house, and the entire gang at Major Crimes helped Jim and Blair move. A rustic two-story cabin, just on the outskirts of town--a slightly longer commute for both of them to work, but neither were going to complain. The property backed right up against a national park--one that still had wolves running free in the wilds. 

They'd been coming out here a couple of times a week for the past month as it was. And along with satisfying a craving inside Blair, Jim had discovered it benefited him as well. Sentinels weren't meant to live inside a city--they were meant to live on the outskirts patrolling the borders. Getting away from the noise and smells of downtown cleared his head and relaxed him. And when Blair felt the need to answer the 'call' as he named it, Jim was more than happy to stand guard over the man while the wolf ran free. Blair always came back to him. 

They sat together one night on the front porch, both sprawled on the porch swing. Blair lay exhausted against Jim's chest, drained from his most recent 'spirit-walk'. Jim stroked his hair, content just to listen to the sound of his heart beating. 

"Jim?" Blair said suddenly. 

Jim looked down at him. His Guide had been quiet and thoughtful ever since he'd gotten back that night. Blue eyes looked up at him suddenly, open and earnest. 

"I'd say yes," Blair explained then. Jim's heart tripped, and then sped up. Even though a month had passed, he knew exactly what question Blair was answering. "I'd say yes." 

"I know," Jim whispered. "I've always known." 

"Good," Blair smiled in satisfaction. "Just wanted to make sure." He leaned up and kissed Jim, stealing his breath away as only he could. 

Far off in the distance, a wolf howled. 

* * *

In case you didn't recognize the story Allisia was reading at the party, it was "The Fall of the House of Usher", by Edgar Allen Poe. I reread it recently and was shocked to discover that it was all about a Sentinel--really! Go read it if you don't believe me. It's a perfect story about a Sentinel who never finds a Guide--he goes insane. --Jo 

* * *

End Woods Forsaken by Josephine Darcy: justjosephine@yahoo.com

Author and story notes [above](woodsforsaken.html#Top).

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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